


This Is The Hunt.

by AngstAnonymous



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), UP10TION, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: AU, Angst, Crossover, Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Romance, bts - Freeform, hinted sex tho, relationship, sorry some members are shown less than others, vmin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11474091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstAnonymous/pseuds/AngstAnonymous
Summary: He lives as a mundane, but he's special.He's unlike any other.





	1. The Seelie.

The world is a vast expanse of ideas, concepts, dreams and desires. It is not a home, it is not a masterpiece, it is a map by which the living will set their end-goal and perish while striving toward it. It is not fair to all; some are land-locked, deprived of basic human needs and some bask in the luxuries of a life handed to them on a silver platter. The world is not judicial as it wishes to believe, and most are not logical in their choices.

The universe is crafted upon false prophets, and it favours the Shadowhunters.

Jimin learnt this from a young age. At the mere age of four, when his grubby palms are clasped around a set of new waxy crayons, he is told not to mix with downworlders. That the 'fairy men' and 'wolf ladies' were not his friends, and that they were below him, that they were meaningless and worthless like their forefathers.

He is told that he should not socialise with those that did not look like 'daddy or mommy', those that bore claws beneath their skin, had wings upon their back or skin tarnished by vile patterns. He is told these kinds of people are dangerous, that they are made for destruction.

"They are partially demons," she whispers, "Put upon earth by god, to show us what happens to sinners."

"De..mons?" He mutters back with widened, fear-pierced eyes.

"Yes, son, they are a warning to all of us innocent." Jimin's father, or so-called father, confirms solemnly, and Jimin becomes curious.

He draws them sometimes, when he is sleepless, but cannot sleep, when he is famished but refuses to eat. He draws them upon clean sheets of crisp paper, and his mother tells him drawing a demon is enough to become one, and that he is dirtying the pages.

He begins to fear them.

It is his eighteenth birthday that he starts his rebellion. When he is slumped in an ivory silk sofa, lined with aureate lace, scrolling through social media to look for some sort of place to go to. His parents are busy again, off doing work at some meeting he assumes— but he doesn't want his life to be like theirs.

Work doesn't suit him.

He preferred play.

"The Pandemonium. . .?" He mumbles to himself before shrugging, hopping up from the sofa and cloaking himself in the tightest clothes he owned.

 

A club. He gets drunk for the first time that night, finding a rather 'questionable' group to socialise with, a group that shows him the ropes of having _fun_.

Ecstasy, LSD, Meow, Heroin, weed, vodka, rum, whiskey— he tries everything in the space of a few quick weeks, blacking out until the whole cosmos maps his vision, stars shimmering against his eyelids in a multitude of luminesce hues, splintering his mind with coruscating blips and flares. It's a feeling he comes to love, to want, to desire.

He meets people, _so many people_ , _werewolves, vampires,_ seelies and every gender on the spectrum. It's at a club where he meets his first true friend, a Warlock named 'Jung Hoseok', one with petit, but rare hands, hands that can ice any of Jimin's drinks and freeze floors into ice-rinks, but also hands that can quite literally work any strand of magic known to man. He isn’t as talented as the High Warlock of course, Min Yoongi, but having him as a mentor _helps._

He's not allowed at the Institute though. None of his friends are.

 

> 

 

It's morning again.

Jimin isn't hesitant by the manner in which he conducts himself.

It's not like he's new to the world of liquor, not like he's ashamed of what he is doing to himself— no, the intoxicants he buys make him feel at peace with himself, they make him feel _sane_ when all else is failing him. They make him feel like he is floating atop cloud nine; airy, light and dreamy. They make his head spin, the tips of his fingertips dancing with sparks of electricity.

Addiction. It cloaks his shoulders like a snug jacket. It's warm, welcoming, it feels safe, like _home_. Without it, without that beautiful fix, his body is left wrecked with cold sweats and shivers, brain seething with mangled thoughts and palms heavy with phantom glasses.

His mother forces him to stop. She tells him that he isn't fit as an heir to the Institute, she locks him away in his bedroom for the _longest_ time, not taking mind to his struggled weeping and choking sobs. She needs him to be her successor.

So when Jimin unlocks his bedside draw with the silvered key that lay around his neck in threaded rouge ribbon, he does not frown. The contents are marvellous, a dirty little secret.

He isn't sure what he grabs at the time (perhaps a variant of flavoured vodka), but it sits pretty upon his tongue anyway, dissolving into his tastebuds with a satisfied hum. It's sweet like sugar, and gives him a high all the same.

Then he hears it; the refined music that echoed about the halls and slipped beneath his door, crashing against his eardrums and causing him to sigh. Knowing his mother, it was a message that he should get himself downstairs and actually get dressed for once.

A party, or perhaps it was better to call it a _meeting_. A meeting about a Seelie. A Seelie that was aware of a very special Shadowhunter.

"Annyeong." He calls unenthusiastically from the top of the staircase upon reaching the grandeur hall, lined with aureate shimmers and LED detailing, marble pillars and polished flooring. Waving his hand about frantically, he rushed down the stairs and slipped into the crowd of men in suits, not necessarily caring for the elegance or posture he was _supposed_ to uphold. That was for pretentious idiots, Jimin thought.

That was for fake people.

"Is alcohol being served?" He questioned broadly, pacing about the room, weaving his body through the many strangers until he reached the woman of the hour; his mother.

"Park Jimin, must I remind you _again_ to fix your posture?" She speaks sternly, Jimin sighs, pushing his back into an uncomfortably straight line. "The meeting is today, your father was supposed to attend but— he's caught up in other matters. Which, means you need to come with me. I expect you will not disappoint."

"What's the meeting about, anyway?"

"You'll see." She sighs, turning sharply upon her heel before escaping to the courtyard.

Outside, a limousine awaits, filled with Shadowhunters, to take them to the City Of Bones. It was said to hold the most dangerous and powerful of Downworlders, those with information, and those to be used as weaponry.

"How far away is this place?" Jimin interrupts the driver, barging through the middle of the car.

"A few hours. You might want to rest."

"Right. Cool." Jimin mutters, then reeling back to his seat and folding his arms across his chest.

 

> 

 

The City Of Bones.

Perhaps the most notable aspect of the realm was the bellowing screams that wound about the grimy walls and resonate about the expanse of twining staircases and roaring flame-licked torches. They are not shrill, nor are they pained, but they are wailing and pricked with the disparity. It’s not like Jimin had never been before, in fact he had been recently to meet and pay his respects to the ‘Silent Brothers’ (the very distinct reason he _hated_ the City), but the place itself never failed to have fear constricting his throat, sticking pins into his spine and creating the _most tense posture_ to exist. Then again, he had nothing to be afraid of, right? He was one of the strongest fighters known, the top in all of his classes despite his favour toward partying and finding the new hottest piece of meat on the block—which, Hoseok shunned him for—and on top of all of that, he was from one of the most respected and prestigious families in Idris, his mother, the very _head_ of the Institute itself.

Jimin reminds himself of all of this when he is put before a Seelie, known for their beauty and inability to lie. A Seelie that goes by the name of Kim Seokjin.

_There is good in everyone._

This, is a philosophy Jimin had adamantly stood by when his mother had told him of the 'demons', and the 'bloodsuckers', and the 'filthy mundanes' and the 'lesser'. There must be light to cast a shadow, Jimin reminded himself, and it was a viewpoint he did not stray from.

Of course, there were people that obscured such light and purposefully lived amongst the darkness— his mother came to mind— but even they had _something_ within them that could evoke jubilance.

As music swept through the Institute during the summer nights, he met poorer men and women that buzzed about like moths amongst the whisperings. And on Mondays, servents, including an extra gardener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing-brushes and hammers and garden-shears, repairing the ravages of the night before. Every Friday, a fruiterer would arrive from the London Insititute, offering the finest oranges and lemons and eventually they would become pulp-less halves, stacked in a high tower that would sit outside of their 'little' home, or would be hideously mushed up into what Jimin’s younger brother Ji-hyun dubbed ‘citrus pie, _without the crust’_.

Jimin did not think less of these people, for they were equals, they worked just as hard, and dragged themselves through hardships to make their way through life. They were strong.

The young Shadowhunter still thinks 'all people are good' when bitter laughter is spilled past the Seelie’s lips with prodigality.

"And so it seems I’ve been caught up in Shadowhunter business once again." Seokjin creases his nose amongst a rather condescending simper, then tilting his head as his arms wind about his chest, "As if I haven’t been used by your kind enough."

He scoffs.

"So what now?”

It is at this point, when Seokjin is less than a metre away from Jimin’s face, that he can find all of the male's imperfections.

And he looks hard. He looks so, so intently— but what he finds is a visage that is faultlessly unerring. It's spectacular.

He doesn't stare for long though, not as long as Seokjin does, anyway.  And Jimin notices, he sees that Seokjin is analysing every single detail of his face and— unsurprisingly, he is not displeased.

Then he's back to the reality of the situation, Seokjin snapping at him for doing _nothing_.

"You know, it's quite refreshing having someone other than my mother disrespect me." He quips back, tone dripping with humour.

The male honestly doesn't seem too happy, and yet, he isn't unsurprised. He was expecting to be turned away coldly, just like most Downworlders did to Shadowhunters, and vice versa. But for some reason, Jimin is hurt by the way the Seelie is treating him.

But then, he was associated with his _mother,_ and _his self-entitled race_.

“I’ve just come to talk,” Jimin states in a blunt tone, “About your knowledge involving a certain Shadowhunter? And for the record, you’re not in trouble. _More trouble,_ anyway.”

The fact Jimin hadn't breathed a word of discrimination toward Seokjin was amusing and— dare he say it— he was shocked.

Shadowhunters were often so elitist they were disgusted to be seen with anything of the sort: Warlocks, Vampires, Werewolves... all were seen as distasteful, inferior. Unwanted. Corrupt. Yet, Park Jimin, a member of the prestigious 'Park' bloodline, had not uttered a word upon the fact that Seokjin was beneath him.

Something within Seokjin had then risen with ebullience, an irrepressible jubilance sparking within his heart and mind. Something he was sure he had never felt before, and yet welcomed whole-heartedly.

Jimin was truly a polar opposite to his mother, and Seokjin admired it.

Emerging from the shadows Jimin had presented himself cloaked in ebony clothing, orbs caressed by ostentatious anxiety and yet, a veil of adoration had settled amongst the male's chiselled visage. Seokjin couldn't help the awe-struck gaze that had tangled up with the Nephilim, the coy simper that had plucked his tiers, nor the way his cheeks seemed to taint with a rose tint.

Then again, Jimin looked incredible— in anything and everything he wore, the Shadowhunter was magnificent, truly a sight to behold, one comparable to that of the Mona Lisa or the Eiffel Tower. It was impossible not to encapsulate the enamour that had rooted itself within the Seelie’s tawny optics, unmissable in the way he took his time tracing his eyes over every little detail that appeared to him. If he carried himself differently, he could perhaps be mistaken for a Seelie too, with looks that are ethereal and much like Aphrodite.

"Four centuries and you must be the first person able to look /this/ alluring in such a simple outfit, and the first Nephilim to show any respect to my kind." Seokjin sighed, nodding his head slowly, “So whatever information you wish to receive, I suppose I shall give you.”

"Then you’ll be able to tell me about a Shadowhunter by the name of Kim Taehyung, correct?”

“He is a Nephilim that lives as a mundane, yes.”

“Can you explain?” Jimin enquires, raising a brow.

“I am not the person you should be asking. But something I can inform you of, is that this is the work of the High Warlock.”

“Min Yoongi?” Jimin nods then, turning on his heel to face his mother with a quaint simper. “Then, we need to pay a visit to a warlock, no?”

A scoff. “Transfer this mission solely to my son, downworlders seem to be his business after all, and apparently _much more than that.”_

Then Jimin scoffs too, folding his arms over his chest and heaving a sigh of exasperation. This was going to be a long night.  


	2. The Warlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God bless the Yoongi!  
> (Also sorta Magnus tease)

No, a tall glass of bubbly champagne _definitely_ didn't sound appealing, and neither did the comfort of his beloved cat befittingly named 'Chairman Meow'. Of course, neither of those things even _remotely_ compared to the promise of Nephilim company. In his upstate apartment of rouge and velvet wallpapering, sequined sofas and glittering chandeliers, Yoongi paces back and forth about his living room. He is petit, he possesses tresses of charcoal, yet powders his face in aureate shimmers and fine glitters of silver and white. His nails are often painted in a shade of cosmic black, refined with cerulean, violet and rose shimmers that are presented only under light. And his wardrobe is the most diverse and exciting of all, as if the catwalk models had been stripped, century after century and thrown his way.

Bubblegum clouded liquor, glass rim coated in sickly-sweet syrup and rolled in rock salt. The cocktail sat neatly in his palm, fingers ghosting the base of the glassware as he traipsed across his apartment in what was— no, not anxiety, but a strange sense of coyness for the guest soon to arrive.

A Shadowhunter of the ‘Park’ family.

Whilst he'd only seen him in photos, he'd heard /much/ about him and as such, was rather intrigued by the Shadowhunter in question. But, simultaneously, there was a stray vein of fear that had simmered in his gut.

"He's late already. . . Isn't that just _charming_." The warlock mutters beneath his breath, raking a hand through his midnight locks as he brought his drink to his roseate lips. In all his splendour and divine obscurity, _never_ had someone kept him so enamoured with a clock, ebony orbs trained diligently upon the spiralling hands.

Sluggishly kicking his feet about his apartment, Yoongi threw back the remains of his drink, clinking the glass against the marble counter and abandoning it for the door that now beckoned him in three raps.

Twining his slender, ring-embellished digits around the verglas doorknob, he drew in a deep breath.

He turns, and opens. Sharing a night with a Shadowhunter— not necessarily as appealing as it should sound.

"Park Jimin." The name rolls off his tongue, breath infused with the scent of liquor. He doesn't even hesitate in the way his gaze lines every intricate detail of the Nephilim's countenance, from the glitter in his eyes to the crook of his front tooth. Then Yoongi steps aside to make room for the other, extending a hand to the glimmering decor of pure flamboyance. A sigh tumbled from his lips as he clicked the sturdy oak door to a close and followed after the shorter of the pair.

"May I ask why I have been requested so suddenly, or are you just going to waltz in here and throw things around to prove a point that Shadowhunters are _still favoured_." With an extravagant display of movements, his palm ended up curled around another glass, his third this evening, and with a click of his fingers there was one identical extended toward the admittedly attractive male, but not as much as Hoseok. Never as much as Hoseok. "Thirsty?" He enquires with a child-like lilt lacing his tone, brow raised and lips piqued into a rather bitter smile.

Jimin delicately takes the glass of _whatever_ concoction Yoongi had summoned and sips away at the liquor with fervour, then glancing over the glass’ rim and finally remembering alcohol _wasn’t_ the reason he had arrived there. “I’m here due to a Seelie by the name of Kim Seokjin. He sent me here, telling me you had the information I need on a Shadowhunter, one that is unaware of his abilities, and of _anything_ really.”

“I’m not sure I know who you’re talking about. Perhaps you have the wrong warlock, Shadowhunter.” Yoongi teases, sighing into his cocktail.

“Kim Taehyung. He recently spotted a Shadowhunter and was immediately reported. We need to find him in order to protect him, of course.”

“Oh,” The warlock breathes the words in distaste, drawing his drink back to his broad chest with raised brows, brims drawn into a thin line. Wandering back to the counter, he carefully placed the beverage down, then sharply turning on his heel to face the Shadowhunter before him.

"You see, this Shadowhunter kid you speak of, I will not really be able to locate him for you. All I was made to do for the child was erase his memories from time to time, keep him out of trouble.” His speech was accompanied by an extravagant display of hands; the warlock himself had a very animated way of expressing himself and he refused to tone it down for absolutely any occasion.

Sucking in a breath of the warmed atmosphere, he took a step forward, gaze monitoring Jimin’s almost finished drink as if it would perhaps fly away— anything to pry his eyes away from the true centrepiece of the room, the male that continuously taunted his mind with thoughts that were. . . Well, definitely appealing but equally alarming. Completely forbidden, not to mention. “I’m assuming you’re here to know my reasoning, no?”

“Of course. Every Shadowhunter is expected to step up and follow the laws of the clave, not to mention the fact that this kid could expose our kind and attract demons.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“And how can you guarantee that? How can you know for sure?”

“A pretty boy like Taehyung? He has no interest in a world like ours. He’s into fashion, and _boys_ , and besides, that Mundane boy Jeongguk will keep him grounded.”

“A pretty boy?” Jimin questions with perhaps too much interest, raising his glass back up to his piquant brims.

Yoongi was a rather incandescent male, unforgiving in his own exuberance and ostentatiousness— it wasn't something to hide, after all, such charisma got you places—   but Jimin, he was something different. Beneath the surface – arrogant and cocky, brash and brooding - Yoongi could see something. Something hidden away, another side that perhaps the Shadowhunter had been told was wrong, something ingrained in him from birth— and though he couldn't pinpoint it yet, the warlock knew that whatever secret Jimin was hiding? It was slowly chipping away at his mind and leaving him with nothing but his facade. An aspect of that thought brought wistful disparity to Yoongi. Whatever potential the Nephilim had within him was being discarded by the Clave, and with time, Yoongi hoped to restore whatever Jimin was so desperate to hide away.

"Follow me." Putting one foot forward, the warlock made his way across the apartment which contained a hybrid of both antique and modern decor, mahogany optics busily flickering between the Shadowhunter and the scenery. “If I give you something of his, would you be able to track him?”

“Yeah, of course I can, if I try hard enough.”

“Then take this.” 


	3. The Unknowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After two chapters, let the Vmin developments commence!

[The Pandemonium]

Parties. Holy fuck did Taehyung love them.

Maybe the best part is that there’s the excuse of alcohol—well, there’s definitely the excuse of alcohol— maybe it's because there's something strangely liberating about becoming someone new in both mind and attire, maybe it's because nobody knew you - nobody judged you.

There's also the perk of not being able to recall /most/ of the night prior, and with that disappears most of the embarrassing memories— that is, until they appear all over some alcohol-abstaining freshie's snapchat.

I mean, there's nothing /romantic/ about face-planting a road after throwing up on the closest candidate, but it was fun.

But this club— this club was Jeongguk’s idea.

Music. It's loud, invasive, and Taehyung is forced to shout over the blaring bass in order to so much as get a drink. The crowds are thick and overbearing, sweaty bodies grinding against each other, shoes sticky with spilt liquor and there's probably vomit on the floor _somewhere_ because some fresh-blood doesn't know his jäger bombs from Kvass. Then there's the cheap alcohol— it tastes like crap, and it burns as it slithers down his throat, but it's either that or some watered down bullshit that tastes like a fruit-orgy in a toilet bowl.

But in that moment, Taehyung doesn't care. He's _far_ too drunk to notice. Parties were his forte. Under the splintering luminesce of the strobe lights and the intoxicating spell of the euphoric music, Taehyung was truly in his essence.

"Can I get another round of shots, please!?" Jeongguk calls out over the bass, shoving a hand back through his bandana tied tresses and grinning that infamous bunny grin toward the bartender. He looks pretty hot; there was no mistaking that. "And uh— any chasers will work too!"

Hopping up from the stool he was seated in, Taehyung glanced over the voluminous crowds and cast his eyes to a small ring forming somewhere across the club. There must've been _something_ interesting going on— it was a nightclub after all— but whatever it was, it didn't necessary seem _peaceful_ either.

Taehyung finds himself tugging at Jeongguk’s shirt once or twice, but Jeongguk simply shrugs him off before uttering something along the lines of ‘let me pay first’.

So Taehyung, impulsive as always, finds himself shifting toward the growing crowd in the centre of the club, but what he finds is anything _but_ comforting.

A man wields a bow and arrow; tattoos of _strange shapes_ litter his body, one snaking up his neck in a chaotically organised manner. He’s not too tall, in fact he’s just about shorter than Taehyung himself, and yet facially he’s much like an Adonis. He was breath-taking. Thick midnight tresses, rich mocha optics that swam with a sanctity of complex emotions, roseate brims that curled into the most inviting of smiles, broad shoulders, toned biceps and a slender physique— to call the male an Adonis still wouldn't be enough.  How easy it was for Taehyung to see the beauty in such a strange male. . .

Blinking fervently, Taehyung breaks free from the daze that holds him temporarily, nodding his head as he inhales and breathes out shakily.

‘Shadowhunter’. The word is being thrown about by the strangers encircling the male, whispers in hissing tongues and hands swiping out to the other mercilessly. Taehyung is about to tap _one_ of the many strangers to ask what the hell was going on when—

“Tae!” Jeongguk calls from behind him, gripping his elbow and yanking him back to the bar with a laugh, “Never seen you so confused in your life. You sure someone didn’t spike your drink?”

“No, those people—they’re after that man—I think he’s in trouble.” He mutters, twisting his body back to face the crowd.

“What? What people?” Jeongguk questions now, raising a brow and glancing over his shoulder, “This place is practically empty—that’s why I took you here—“

“No, no it’s clearly _not_ , how are you not seeing all of these people?”

“Was my drink spiked..?” Jeongguk then mutters, staring into his drink as Taehyung disappears once more from the doe eyed male, barging through the thickening crowds and standing in front of the stranger.  “Hey Tae—!?”

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on but—if you all back away I’m sure he won’t hurt you!” Desperation; for some reason it runs thick amongst Taehyung’s timbre, unsettled and unnerved, but the person behind him doesn’t seem phased—well not even that—he seems shocked, surprised even, but something about him appears as though he is within his element, as if he is unbothered by the encircling crowds but in fact more infatuated by the unsightly situation unfolding before him. A human boy, able to see him despite the runes that engrave his skin unartfully.

Then an arm splays itself across Taehyung’s body, rather muscular in its build, and Taehyung recognises it well as the ‘tattooed man that is really cute’, before he finds himself being shoved back into the sofa that causes his knees to give out. Then he stares in confusion, a blinded _daze_ that enshrouds his vision as he watches something so graceful, so beautiful and well-formed, a practiced art of accuracy and precision, a stranger, swiftly cutting through the air with his enraptured movements, and consecutively releasing a hail of steel-tipped arrows that bury themselves within the flesh of what appeared human, but were anything but.

Fear. It was a bewildering thing. It showed a person's true desires, it sorted vrai from faux, it was contagious, a warning to those surrounding. _Fear_ held true power over the mind. Fear could contort and control all thoughts. Taehyung's cheek dented, wobbling under the weight of his emotions. He didn't mean to cry tonight, in fact, after this stranger had saved him from what he was so easily fooled by, he believed he had no reason to cry for. But then dread twisted his gut, it surged throughout his body and made his knees weak.

First their faces open up, they snap in a grotesque manner and crack into four sectors of jagged teeth, pointed like razors and embedded within greyed gums. Their skin becomes stretched then, taut over a spindly and bone-dominated stature,  a figure that becomes so blaringly inhuman that Taehyung finds himself shrinking away, scuttling into the sofa further and further until his knees are brought up to his chest.

“Taehyung!” Jeongguk calls out once more and Taehyung shakes his head frantically.

“Don’t come closer!” He calls, and watches the other with pure terror. Was he one of them too? Or was he human?

The stranger moves again now, he launches off of the heel of his feet and performs something Taehyung had once tried to learn during his all-too expensive martial arts lessons: a Narabong kick. He only uses it as a transition though, because then he’s moving about with rapid speed, drawing back his fist to crack punches along their jaw and forcing himself through the air to get height on his arrow-shots.

It’s both ethereal and daunting in one prosperous snapshot.

The rather attractive male rids of them, soon enough they dissolve into nothing but wisps of smoke that dissipate within the atmosphere and ashes that flutter to the now empty flooring. Then he’s turning, extending a hand to Taehyung and pulling him up from the sofa despite the weakness in his knees. Taehyung stumbles and his face ends up smushed against the stranger’s chest, to which the man peels the Art student away.  It’s then that Jimin realises. _This_ was the Shadowhunter everybody was talking about, the one that lived as a mundane, and the one that had lived unconsciously.

“You didn’t get hurt, did you?” Jimin speaks first, hooking his bow back upon his back as he peer at the other from beneath his lashes.

“Yeah, no—who are you?”

“My name depends solely on yours.”

“Kim Taehyung…?” He mumbles, raising a brow now, heart racing.

“Park Jimin.” A grin forms upon his lips now, revealing rows of perfectly white teeth, a singularly crooked tooth toward the front of his smile and his piquant lips of coral frame it all perfectly. If angels existed on earth, Taehyung was almost certain this is what they would look like. No, scrap that, _he was certain. “And you_ need to come with me, ne?”

“Come with you? Where—I need to go home with Guk, he’s my ride home.”

Jimin glances past Taehyung’s shoulder now, takes a good look at the soft-faced boy sat sipping his drink and _staring_ Taehyung down with some form of amusement, and then he sighs. “The mundane boy will be fine alone, but you need to come with me, ok? This is important—“

“Jeongguk’s important too—he’s not the smartest but he—“

“You just saw _literal demons_ get killed in front of you and you’re worrying about _your friend.”_

“Is that a bad thing…? What if he gets attacked?”

“Demons don’t tend to go for mundanes, he’ll be _fine_ , just—“  Jimin grips Taehyung’s wrist now, pulls it toward him and shuffles about his pocket to find some sort of wizard wand looking thing, and then he’s hovering it over Taehyung’s skin. “This is going to hurt, but it’ll keep your friend from following you, at least.”

“What is that thing?” Taehyung’s lips part, and his eyes are wide as he stares upon Jimin’s focused countenance, his expression riddled with confusion.

“It’s called a Stele. You’ll learn about all of this soon enough, alright? Hold still.”

Pain; it dances his skin with jarring precision, a searing movement that roots itself deep under porcelain skin and raises it up into reddened lines that seem to disappear all too quickly, fade into the colours of a sweeping midnight and runs deep in lines that form into a marking Taehyung had never quite seen before. The pain is temporary, though, Taehyung's eyes are still glossy with emotion, picking up the sunlight in false glitters, there’s some sort of underlying pain beneath them that Jimin could only understand as their current situation, not some sort of guilt or regret, but a new strand of fear, one of overpowered unknowing, of betrayal and deceit, a secret his mother must have kept from him before her untimely passing.

But to Taehyung, the pain was bad memories. It was overwriting phantom wounds. He remembered the feeling as though it were only yesterday; the ritualistic manner by which he would dance the silvered blade across his delicate skin, the way he would carve away at his imperfections until he drew the very colour of life, the fragile sound of blood colliding with the sink, the horror on his Jeongguk’s face when he would walk blankly about their dorm, crimson leaking along his arms and seeping into his clothes.

It was addicting.

The intense feeling of initial pain subsided to leave a sting that sent sparks along his skin, and the blood drawn did nothing but to remind him of what he had become. Lifeless, just like his mother.

Jimin’s fingertips move up to dab away at the other’s tears with sensitivity, gaze delving into the newly discovered Shadowhunter’s for the first time. Taehyung traces his teeth over his lower lip, puncturing his tier until pain rose to the surface and granted him temporary relief— because in truth he’s scared. He’s so scared he feels his knees go weak and skin freeze over.

Jeongguk is looking for him. Searching for him as if he doesn’t exist.

“What did you do to me..?” He whispers, looking down at himself as a breath catches in his throat.

“It’s a glamour, means mundanes won’t see you.”

“Mundanes?”

“ _Humans.”_ Jimin clarifies, then shucking off his jacket and draping it over Taehyung. He practically drowns in the leather coat, and when Taehyung frowns, Jimin finds his gut twisting.

“Listen, I really don’t want to be part of this—any of this at all, I’m sorry I’m just—it doesn’t make sense—“Jimin’s arms don't move however, when Taehyung attempts to shove the jacket back into his arms he refuses to take it back because when he's looking at Taehyung's frail, shivering frame, he feels like all the oceans of the world are engulfing him and depriving him of oxygen. It's not right— everything about Taehyung’s situation is wrong to him, from the way he appears to fear _himself_ , the way his knees appear to buckle, to the way he wavers and wobbles on stable ground. It’s strange, because Jimin had never found himself _hurt_ by another person, but it hurts like hell, hearing confused and disbelieving speech fall from Taehyung's chapped and wounded lips that hurt as much as a dagger to his back, making itself snug with every little word. 

"Well I'm not going anywhere." Stubborn, as always. He can't seem to understand why Taehyung is still pushing him away, and it burns his chest with the heat of a thousand flames. "Not without you, not now. You need to accept what you are, you can’t just get rid of that—“

“But I’ve been fine until now, I’ve been fine living as a ‘mundane’ or _whatever_ you call them.” Taehyung stutters over his words now, skin trembling under the chill of his own denial. Jimin reaches over, taking his jacket once more and loosely hanging it back over Taehyung’s petit shoulders.

“You’ll put people in danger, Taehyung. You’ll attract monsters your _mundanes_ think of as _folklore_.”

“But why now? Nothing has happened yet and—I just got into my art school too I can’t just leave all of that behind—I can’t leave Jeongguk behind either, not after all he’s done for me.” His words are frantic, unintentionally so, but he can’t fathom leaving behind the last person he had left, the closest he had to family, the person that was there when his father walked out and his mother took her own life.

He wasn’t going to abandon Jeongguk for some stranger.

“Listen, if It makes you feel better you don’t have to leave them behind, you don’t have to leave anything behind, you’re just taking on more responsibilities, that’s all. Besides, I’m here for you now too—we might not know each other that well yet, but give it some time and I’m sure you’ll feel fine, ok?” Jimin sighs now, reaching out and carefully encapsulating Taehyung’s wrist with his palm, “But right now, I really need you to just trust me and come with me, alright?”

“Why do I need to?”

“Because I need to show you the truth.”


	4. The Institute.

[The Institute.]

“A church?” Taehyung questions as he hikes Jimin’s jacket further up on his shoulders, speech thick with incredulity, mocha orbs laced with confusion, “You had to take me to a church?”

Jimin laughs, eyes lighting up as he shakes his head, “This place isn’t a church, ok? It’s glamoured, just like we are.”

“Oh. Right. How do I take this glamour thing off, by the way?”

“I’ll teach you soon enough—unless you get assigned to someone else.” Jimin tugs at Taehyung’s hand now, pulling him along to the entrance of the institute and taking him inside.

At that point, Taehyung is sure he’s blinded.

The whole place is white, _almost_ , and there’s these blinding LED lights everywhere that burn the backs of Taehyung’s eyes, computer screens line the walls and strange glowing panels display maps and runes and ‘criminals’. There’s something about a ‘High Warlock’ that wears perhaps too much glitter judging by his headshots and on another screen there’s a ‘werewolf’ displayed with a dimpled smile and some sort of sarcastic(?) gaze. Nam-something?

Despite the initial wince upon his expression, Taehyung is amazed. This whole entire place was squeezed inside a single church that he’d have thought nothing about before. It was something he’d have simply walked past.

“I’ll take you to a training room until the Head of the Institute comes back, just stay with me for now.” Striding down the halls, ebony hair bouncing alongside his steps, the young male searched for a practice room. Taehyung wasn't dressed particularly fashionably, simply donning a pair of ripped black jeans and a loose-fit shirt that barely stayed upon his shoulders— after all, partying was never a formal affair— but on his way down the strangely silent and lifeless halls, he hears something so mesmerising his heart physically stops. A harmonious symphony of perfectly selected notes, strung together in a musical masterpiece. It was a piece coloured by emotion, strains of crimson romance and cerulean sorrow, entwined together to create a devastation of Sangria. Taehyung was never one to appreciate the grand piano— but this, this paragon— it had him in its grip almost instantly.

So he wanders in, and does the exact _opposite_ of what Jimin had asked of him.

It's rude, he knows, to intrude on someone's session but something in the way the person played had him hooked in an instant.

All he wanted was to ask their name.

“Are you lost? Do you need some help?” Surprisingly, this particular male wasn’t being sarcastic. He was bubbly and vibrant, and much like Jeongguk after he’d drunk too much Red Bull. With cherry red tresses and a rosy complexion, the male was anything but threatening, and the ruby necklace that hangs loosely from his neck ties his whole palette together. Most notably, and something that makes Taehyung’s boxy grin emerge, was the fact that this strangers smile was brighter than the lights, and _that was_ saying something.

“Ani, I just came to listen to your music—“

“You like it?” He enquires enthusiastically, grin growing wider (if that was even possible).

“Yeah! Of course, you play like a professional!”

“Jimin taught me, he plays here sometimes too—but he was busy on a mission today so I’m practicing alone.” His brows crease then, and he shifts over in the piano seat and leaves a space for Taehyung, “Who are you, by the way?”

“Oh, it’s my first time here, actually.” Taehyung explains then, shuffling over to the seat and sitting down next to the other.

“Are you from an institute abroad?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’m Kim Taehyung.” He smiles now, and sticks a hand out to the other, eyes upturning into crescents and pearly grin growing against his tan complexion.

“So _that’s why_ Jimin’s still at the door.” He laughs now, and nods over to the doorway in which Jimin leans against the frame, beaming toward the pair with his arms folded over his chest. Taehyung winces. “I’m Kogyeol.”

“I was planning to introduce you two myself, but I guess you’re more sociable than I imagined.” Jimin chuckles, moving toward the pair with some sense of pride and jubilance. Maybe it’s the fact Taehyung was already fitting in, already finding friends and making connections, or maybe it was the fact that Kogyeol was _actually practicing_ for once, but whatever it was, Jimin felt warmth wrap over his heart.

When Jimin was still so young and intense, everything was felt so keenly. Love was deep, hatred was strong, anxiety could cripple, sadness overwhelmed yet happiness was always overlooked unless it was the kind of giddy fun that bonded him to his friends, or family. When he became older, there was a mellowing for him, the feelings are all there but the dial gets turned down, and so the gentle sort of happiness that was disregarded in life came to the fore. The small pleasures of life took a more prominent role. He savoured so greatly the peaceful moments and learnt to really cherish and adore his loved ones.

It was like that for Taehyung now; he had already learnt so easily and quickly to fall into the Shadowhunter’s care, to give in to his promises and trust him wholly. Taehyung wasn't ordinary. He was everything out of the ordinary, everything spectacular and wondrous, everything mesmerising and bewildering. He piqued Jimin's curiosities, but simultaneously sated his questionable emotions.

Then, there, stood within the towering institute, what Jimin had called his home, under the radiant glimmers of the moon that swim about the room, squished against Kogyeol's side with his hands vacantly sat upon the piano keys, he giggles with giddy enamour. His eyes crease into a smile that surely outshines the rest, faint crinkles running up the bridge of his nose, and cheeks appearing fuller as he reveals his box of a smile. Taehyung explains something that is overwhelming, yet makes him feel complete. It has no bound, length or depth; it’s just absolute. It feels as though someone has given him peace. It feels as though his heart is dancing around his chest; and a hole, he was never aware was there, had been filled. Taehyung feels light in Jimin’s company, like he's on top of the world yet his heart is constricting and it feels as if there’s no oxygen in his lungs.

"Sociable?” Kogyeol breathes through his grin, chocolate stained eyes glimpsing upon Taehyung, "He told me he was from an institute abroad because he was so nervous."

Then silence falls.

"Should we go?" Jimin enquires with a small and soft voice as he leans over Taehyung, smile still plastering his lips breath ghosting over his skin.

“Yeah— yeah sure—“ Taehyung agrees then, glancing toward Kogyeol with a simper of departure before raising up from the piano stool. Jimin takes his hand again, and he’s already made a habit of it since Taehyung _obviously_ has a tendency to wander.

Moments flit by and Taehyung takes a seat within the training room, cross legged upon the floor beside Jimin, who now twirled his Stele between his fingers mindlessly. The training room was much less blinding. It was of cooler tones, built mainly by oak woods and painted in neutral tones; the only light was natural, and there wasn’t much of it since the sun had already set and the moon had risen amongst the sea of darkness. They’re quiet for a while, until Jimin starts to gaze upon Taehyung’s features.

“Do you have one?” Jimin asks finally, brow raising toward the other.

“What?”

“A Stele. Were you ever given one by your family? Your parents?”

“I don’t have any parents,” Thankfully Taehyung doesn’t seem uneasy, but Jimin is already regretting bringing such a thing up. “My father left her when I was younger, he wasn’t necessarily abusive per say, but he never treated her well, he always had _something to_ comment on.”

“Your mother, is she not around anymore?” Jimin asks now, stuffing his Stele within his pocket and listening carefully. He feels bad. No, he feels like shit for even taking an interest in Taehyung’s misfortunes, but maybe learning these things about him wasn’t _that bad_ of an idea, after all, he knows now that Taehyung _does_ need a family of his own and—Jimin was almost certain he would find one within the Institute.

“My mother?” Taehyung’s expression seems to darken. His mother took her own life, gave up on her child at the young age of fourteen, left him with nothing but the cold hand of his father, distant and hateful. Taehyung didn't take it well, he never _took things well_ , and it was around that period that he had carefully started to construct walls about himself, developing a cold attitude and a vehement, devil-may-care demeanour. He was a rebellious kid, dismissing the world and its many vices to find himself cooped up in the principal's office a million times too many.

But back then, he was proud of himself.

He wore a smirk upon his lips, fighting back against the world that had so diligently torn his mother away from him, and he found _life_ in the thrill of being the 'Grade A' campus asshole.

Now he was at university, working diligently toward his dreams of becoming an artist, being the next ‘Van Gogh’.

And yet the labels forced upon his mother by his father still burn.

'Crazy', 'lunatic', 'neglectful'.

Taehyung despised it.

And he was going to give up. After twenty years of his life spent living with his father, defending his mother, he was going to throw it away because he was fearful of being alone, guilty of words he didn't mean to say, scared that he was no longer good enough.

'If I couldn’t even save my mother, then what worth do I really hold?’ He thinks inwardly, digits delicately toying with the fabric of Jimin’s jacket that still swallowed his frame.

“She took her own life a few years after my father left. She let his words get to her and I guess being alone was a fear that got to be too overwhelming.”

“But she had you?”

“I was young and rude and outspoken. I wasn’t necessarily the kind of person you could call company.” Taehyung laughs regretfully, then glancing up at the ceiling, “Somehow I wonder if I could’ve saved her, but I guess I was too late.”

“I’m sure she loved you. More than you ever knew.”

Taehyung nods silently, and somehow wishes he were back in his dorm, curled up in the blankets and cuddling up to his pillow.

But he was here, within Jimin’s 'home' that looked like something akin to Jay Gatsby's. Grandeur and elegant, much more like a modern castle than Taehyung’s old dorm with Jeongguk on floor fifteen. He immediately felt intimidated when he stepped in, but for some reason, knowing it belonged to Jimin’s family makes things feel _so much easier._ The twinkle of the stars that resides within Jimin’s eyes, almost makes him feel like smiling for a minute. Something about the marvel gave him a sense of peace, as if it were for his eyes and their eyes only.

"Is this really your house—?" A change of subject, maybe a little too late.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that. I live here with my family and some other Shadowhunters. You’ll get a room here too soon enough.”

Taehyung laughs, because he can't possibly live here— not wearing his oversized rip-off Gucci shirts and ripped jeans, cheap jewellery and boxers with maybe one too many holes. 'Manly' he calls it jokingly, but in reality he finds it too embarrassing to order new pairs. Jeongguk was never wrong to call him childish.

“Can Jeongguk live here too? I don’t think he’d want me to live alone, not after—“

“After what?”

“Nothing,” Taehyung covers quickly, swallowing the lump at the base of his throat, “He just likes to make sure I’m alright.”

“Well, I don’t really think mundanes can live here, and neither can downworlders really— but I can look after you? I’ll make sure to keep you safe.”

Taehyung nods then and a smile warms to his lips as Jimin playfully grins toward the other, showing as much teeth as possible.


	5. The Bitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short, I know ;;

[3:00am, Dormitories]

Jeongguk lay comfortably on his side, brunette locks messily splayed upon the rouge bedsheets, just above his Taehyung’s empty bunk. It's cold - considerably so - and the crisp chill of the air bites at his exposed skin, sending shivers along his spinal column and leaving a childish pout to play about his roseate tiers. He sighs. He shifts onto his back. An illumination of white light dances along the ceiling, casting shadows in its' midst and silhouettes upon the wall adjacent to the music student.

He grimaces.

"So you finally came back after ditching me all night.” His words echo amongst the silence wisps of his whispers falling to the floor.

No response.

Rolling his eyes, Jeongguk slung his hand over the bed and waved it with incredulity. Sometimes Taehyung _really_ took the piss. "Taehyung. Kim Taehyung. Yah." His words were laced with certain spite now, an annoyance, _irritancy._ Taehyung had an unfinished art project due in at almost 4:00am in the morning, and he was on his phone. He wasn't taking it seriously, it seemed, and other people were relying on him doing well. Even if Jeongguk wasn't necessarily the _hardest_ worker, he knew when to buckle down.

If that wasn't enough, Jeongguk was already getting pissy these days. He'd hit a brick wall. No muse equals no song-writing, and no songs means a fail. And if he failed, well, Taehyung wouldn't hear the end of it.

“Tae— I’m not really mad, it’s just— we were supposed to go to the club together and then you disappeared so I guess I was just worried—“ Waving his hand once more, Jeongguk shuffles under his covers.

Then he feels a firm, unyielding grip tighten about his wrist, one he had never quite felt before—it’s almost _inhuman_. “Uh… Tae? Is that you?”

“Mianhae.” Comes a faint mumble, and suddenly pain attacks his system as he feels his skin puncture under the pressure of what felt like a jaw, lips pressed against his skin.

He screams, but he never means to, because it’s then that warm drops of a metallic taste fall onto his tongue, and the deal is done. 


	6. The Shadowhunters.

**“You can just sleep in my bed tonight.”**

**“Are you sure?”**

Jimin wistfully slips into the embrace of his bed, resting his head carefully upon his pillow and drawing the sheets over his body. He barely even notices Taehyung's presence there until somewhere in the blackness of the night, a chill runs over his body and pulls his tawny orbs open, sleep settling upon his eyelashes. Taehyung had stolen away most, if not _all_ of the covers unknowingly, leaving Jimin out in the cold. Then somewhere later on in the night, Jimin felt an arm limply sling over his waist and remain there, forehead pressed against the river between his shoulder-blades— but to be honest, Jimin didn't mind. Taehyung had a rough night.

The morning swam across the room in aureate glitters, sunlight glimmering upon the sheets and dancing along the ceiling. It did nothing to awaken the sleeping Shadowhunter, but Jimin was already traipsing around his bedroom in a shirtless state, hand cupped over his mouth in a wide-mouthed yawn. He needed a shot of liquor to truly pick him up, but for now he relied on a coffee to pull him back to reality, sipping at the bitter beverage as it smoothed over his tongue and ran heat down his throat.

To be perfectly honest, he had nothing against Taehyung. Sure, Taehyung had caused some significant trouble within the institute, but that simply wasn't Taehyung's _fault_. So when he saw him, he abstained from any torment or snide comments, but simply brought a simper upon his lips, and made sure to show him the most welcoming demeanour possible. Not to mention Taehyung was _beautiful_ , more than any Seelie he’d ever lay eyes on.

"Oh— Tae, good-morning." Placing his spatula down, Kogyeol leant against the counter of the kitchen, kindling a simper upon his lips. “I was just cooking breakfast for everyone!”

Jimin walks in now, and he’s finally decided to shove a shirt over his overwhelmingly chiselled body, “Oh—Kogyeol, me and Tae were just about to go out eating together.”

“You were? But I made pancakes—“

Jimin blinks, then he’s squinting at the strange grey puddles that sat upon plates, smothered in whipped cream and drowned in maple syrup. It was almost laughable. After four years of Jimin attempting to teach Kogyeol how to cook the _most basic_ of dishes, he had finally given up and left him to his own devices, and nine out of ten times his dish was inedible (the tenth time, you could just about keep it down if you ignore the gagging). But Taehyung, being naïve as usual, now gawks at Jimin with wide eyes.

“We were? I don’t mind eating pancakes.”

Kogyeol clasps his hands together at this, grinning brightly as he skips over with a plate of (somehow sludgy) pancakes masked by store bought toppings.

Taehyung sits down at the table and _almost_ takes a bite before Jimin steps in and grabs the Shadowhunter’s fork.

“Yeol, we really have to go—but if you put them in the fridge we’ll be sure to come back and eat them, ok? But for now, if you really want to help out, Tae needed some clothes to borrow.”

“Clothes? I can find some clothes—“ Kogyeol grabs at Taehyung now, yanking him off to his bedroom to lend him his best clothes, after all, he _was_ the most fashionable Shadowhunter, and whilst he was more of a Prada kind of guy, he appreciated Taehyung’s rip-off Gucci and set out to give him the _real deal._

"Come on!" Kogyeol half-whispered, half-shouted with enthusiasm, tugging at Taehyung’s wrist and weaving the pair throughout the crowds of Shadowhunters with haste, knowing damn well that his parabatai Wei was soon to find him if he didn't get somewhere secluded and out of the way.

So there he was, dragging Taehyung up to his room, a true bohemian dream, a golden room that seemed as though it belonged in India rather than Seoul; a masterpiece in itself embellished with diamonds and sapphires, rubies, pearls, jade and amber.

Pushing the door open and letting Taehyung inside, the younger Shadowhunter grinned toward the newbie watching as his eyes sparkled in bewilderment, "It's nice in here, huh?" He announces proudly, then closing the door behind them before hopping onto the bed and crossing his legs with childlike posture. “Go ahead and look through my wardrobe, you can wear whatever. I don’t mind!”

“Are you really sure?”

“Mm!” Kogyeol hums and hops up off of the bed to slide open the mirror mounted doors and show him the marvellous array of clothing he had within his closet. It’s all designer, without a doubt, and as he’s fervently plucking clothes from his wardrobe, Taehyung watches in astonishment. Fashion was always something he was enamoured with, and Kogyeol was drowning in it.

“You’re a Gucci boy, right?”

“What— yeah, I mean I like a lot of their designs I just can’t afford it—“

“Then take this, and pair it with these.” Kogyeol hands over a crisp white dress shirt with an embroidered crimson, white and black king snake found under the Gucci ‘Garden’ line, alongside a pair of skinny jeans to tuck his shirt into them. He almost screams when he gets his hands on it.

Taehyung gets changed, and he looks so damn ethereal in that moment; glitter cascades through the vibrant atmosphere and dusts his delicate features with pigments of rose, cerulean, aureate shimmers, and softened silver— a grin of enrapture spreads across his rubicund brims like silk over skin.

And when Taehyung walks back to Jimin, he attracts all attention.

Everyone looks upon Taehyung with envy, desire, an animalistic _hunger_ for his perfect physique, the tormenting sway of his hips when he walks and the rose tint of his lips— but Taehyung? Despite the gaze of everyone falling upon him— his eyes were perfectly fixed on Jimin, drinking his image in like liquor. To Taehyung, he, Jimin, was the real spectacle.

The atmosphere doesn't die down there, no, women are still staring at Taehyung when he stands beside Jimin and talks to him, unaware of the attention he was gaining in the Institute already, women sling themselves over the chairs they’re seated in like borrowed jackets, tainted giggles falling from their lips and Jimin glares with some sort of jaded protection.

He hates it.

“Let’s get out of here Tae, I need to show you some things.” Taehyung then nods obediently, following Jimin off to the same training room they were in just the night before.

It doesn’t have the same atmosphere as it does at night, and it’s made damningly obvious by the way Jimin’s visage is glittered over with shimmers of sunlight that tangle within his hair and capture his eyes. Taehyung can’t tell if he likes it better or not – because now he was finding it hard to actually concentrate on _whatever_ Jimin was saying, and by the way Jimin was speaking so passionately, he was sure it was important.

“—vampires aren’t the easiest downworlders to control, especially not when they’re multiplying.” Jimin then groans, shifting from his cross-legged position and flopping onto the floor behind him.

“Yeah— sounds bad.” He fronts, gazing at Jimin with perhaps too much fondness.

“Anyway, I asked Wei to come in and help speed along your training. He’s not the top fighter, but he trains most people around this place in close combat.”

“Combat..?” Taehyung mumbles, brow raising.

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, sitting up once more with a laugh, “’Hunters’ is kinda in the name.”

“So what exactly _do we hunt_? I mean, what even is a _Shadowhunter, even?”_

“We’re part human part angel, and since we’re technically considered the ‘superior’ race we’re expected to protect mundanes and downworlders alike. Keep everyone out of trouble.” Jimin explains neatly and to the point, a smile poised upon his lips as he leans over and ruffles Taehyung’s lock. “You’ll work everything out eventually.”

“So downworlders are everything that’s not mundane and not a Shadowhunter?”

“ _Technically._ Vampires, Werewolves, Warlocks, Seelies, they’re all downworlders.”

At this point Taehyung has to pretend he’s not scared half to death, because his whole life he’d been believing Vampires were strictly Bram Stoker’s business, and Werewolves were folklore— but apparently he was completely wrong. He doesn’t even bother asking what a Seelie is.

“Gotcha…” His tone is quiet as always, nervous too, but Jimin makes him feel a little better because he’s cheering him on from the side-lines. It’s nice.

“Anyway, I was going to show you a few runes, just to get you started.”

“Oh—those tattoo things? I’m not really a fan; I think they look better on you.” He nods all too knowingly, lips folding into a line-smile.

“They’re our ‘superpowers’~” Jimin whispers back, and Taehyung’s eyes widen to an unnatural size.

“They are?”

“Mhm, they give us all of our abilities. Anything you can think of, there’s almost always a rune for it.”

“So I could have super speed?” A nod. “And super strength?” Another nod. “I could teleport?”

“Uh—not really _that_ but Warlocks can make portals for us.”

“That’s so cool!” Taehyung grins brightly, hands balling up into fists as he shuffles about like an excited toddler.

“Do you want me to show you some, then?”

“Yeah— of course!”


	7. The withering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter ;;

Breathe.

Breathe, and breathe once more because life is short-lived and you only get one of them. Breathe, because you can, breathe in the crisp winter air and the humidity of the summer. Breathe, for the people you love, slow on the nights where you are wrapped in their arms and fast when you see them scrawled with affliction. Breathe, because one day, it could be your last breath.

Jeongguk remembers writing that, somewhere in the back of his mind. Perhaps when he was younger, when he was unable to control his tears, when Taehyung would jokingly call him 'Jungle Book', and his biggest worry was letting his older brother down.

 But now, he finds it hard to.

Hot liquid dances along his smooth skin, chills upon the surface and tumbles from his jaw, digits desperately gripping onto his music partner, and _fling,_ Yugyeom for the comfort he wanted— _needed_ right now.

He can't stomach the feeling of it all.  The way everything feels like it's falling apart, and he doesn't even know why.

He's shuddering, quaking, _quivering_ in the comfort of the other’s firm arms, weakly nudging his face into his broad shoulder as a cacophony of cries reached past his lips, wrenched from his throat without pause for delicacy.

He has to bite his lip to hear what Yugyeom has to say. But when he does, the tears only fall faster.

"Do you want me to call Taehyung?"

Jeongguk hiccups over the burn in his lungs, eyelids growing all too heavy with exhaustion. He's tired. He's sick. He's _dying_ so fast he can almost feel the numbness grow in his limbs.

He’s letting Taehyung down. He’s leaving him all alone, and it kills.

"No.. No he’s busy—"

“You’re not right, Jeongguk, there’s something wrong with you—“ He exclaims, holding onto him tightly.

‘ I'm becoming a monster, Taehyung-ah, and they’re not supposed to have happy endings.

And you're the closest I ever got to one.’

“Lay down, ok? I’ve got you.” Yugyeom utters, carefully setting him down and squishing himself in bed beside him.

There—when his legs are tangled up with Jeongguk's, palm carefully cusping the other's cheek and caressing it so softly, gaze swimming within Jeongguk's mocha pools and breathing matched perfectly—that is when he questions how Taehyung ever managed to leave him alone that night. How Jeongguk ever managed to live so uncertainly.

No, you couldn't really call Jeongguk's behaviour _living_ , it was much closer to survival, to desperately grasping at the frayed threads of life he had left within him. He _felt_ like he was dying. He felt closer to dead than to living, and as Yugyeom’s hands ghost over Jeongguk’s arm, he notices something, something that twists his gut, he could feel his hands shake with the devil himself.

“Guk, what is this..?” Yugyeom mumbles, sliding Jeongguk’s sleeve up to find two holes within his skin, surrounded grotesquely by blackened veins and dried blood.

“It’s nothing...” He mutters, tone delicate despite the gravelly hum beneath his words.

The night washes over Jeongguk’s dormitory with insurmountable speed, the moon pinned to a blanket of stars and the outside world whittling to nothing but a melody of the nature: birds, insects and the wind dancing against the lone window.

Jeongguk hates it. He hates being here, in an uncomfortable bed, boxed in by a more than minuscule room with one barely notable window. It felt like a prison.

He wanted Taehyung to appear and spontaneously request they go to a café or a park or to an aquarium— _anything._

But he endures the pain, because he’s almost certain Taehyung is having more fun without him bugging him.


	8. The bond.

“Anyway, so this one time me and Jeongguk met this one guy and—“ Taehyung’s throat bubbles up in giggles like  a fervent child before he can even finish speaking, his eyes half-lidded as he drapes himself over Jimin’s shoulders with a broad smile. Taehyung is a lot chattier that Jimin bargained for, though he is far from mad. A cute guy like him is stuck with him for at least the next few years, and he barely complains, even though every time Jimin attempt to write his reports to the clave, the brown haired puppy wants to prod at his cheek once again. “—he was so _so_ tall he bumped his head on every doorway and one time Jeongguk was running away from him and he _knocked himself out.”_

“Tae,”

“Yeah?” The younger questions as he shifts further forward against Jimin’s shoulders.

“It’s two in the morning, and I need to inform the Clave of your arrival.” Jimin tries to muster a grumpy voice, trying to keep up his reputation as the loveable ‘cool guy’, but he can’t add any spite into his tone when he looks upon the face of angels.

“That doesn’t make the story any less funny.”

“It really does, beside what’s so funny about a tall guy.” He sighs then, a disbelieving smile tweaking against his lips that he’s forced to hide.

“Shut up, your mum’s a tall guy.”

Then Taehyung is slumping into the free sofa space beside Jimin, and a small thump impacts upon his shoulder. Of course, Taehyung had just decided to fall asleep on his shoulder. When he turns to look upon the petit male, tufts of his messy caramel hair tickle his cheeks and when Jimin moves his shoulder in the slightest to continue writing, instead of him waking, he just snuggles more into Jimin's side by burrowing his face more and tucking his arm under Jimin's own.

Jimin almost feels bad. Like he should wake Taehyung up to save him the embarrassment, but truthfully he doesn't mind the sudden embrace from the Shadowhunter. His cuddles were actually pretty nice, especially when can’t even count the months on two hands since he got laid.

“Hey, Jimin.” Taehyung whispers, peering up at the other under his lashes.

“Mm?”

“Do you think I’ll be ok?”

“What do you mean?” He asks in a low tone, shifting his arm to wrap it around Taehyung.

“Do you think things will be better from now on?”

“That depends on you. On your situation. Who you choose to be with, who you meet, where you want to go…” Jimin squeezes Taehyung’s arm gently, “But I’ll be here for you to help you through everything.”

“So I’ll be alright..?” Taehyung asks once more, closing his eyes once more.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

From then on, the two become closer.

Taehyung all too often takes out his phone and shows Jimin his favourite pictures of outfits that he has envisioned together, different screenshots from the Gucci website as well as Manolo Blahnik, and Armani. Then there’s several photos of black and white scheme that he has taken. Jimin always finds himself infatuated with the way Taehyung glows as he babbles about the different places that he’s been with Jeongguk (curtesy of the Jeon family) and the pictures of different landscapes and sceneries that he’s taken. They're all in greyscale, but they still have a burst of character about them.

There are days when Taehyung gets injured. When he’s training so diligently, when he’s so focused and concentrated, he doesn’t even inform Wei that he’s injured his ankle, and he _probably_ needs to rest. He’s best with throwing knives and Wei’s very own Chakrams, but he’s still not up to scratch with the general blades used – Seraph blades. Jimin explains them simply as ‘the primary weapons of the Shadowhunters’. They are made of adamas and crafted by the Iron Sisters, and they call upon the power of angels' names to access the power of the blades. Taehyung thinks they’re the coolest thing going, and frequently compares them to lightsabres but—he just can’t seem to get the right grip on them.

Then there are the days where Taehyung gets bored out of his mind whilst reading rune books and practicing drawing with his newly received Stele, and he decides cooking with Kogyeol is much more fun, though he always abstains from trying the food per Jimin’s warning, often claiming he was already full or Jimin was cooking for him later (which Jimin actually did, if Taehyung whined enough).

And the worst days? They were when he can’t seem to get his mind off of Jeongguk. He’s called him, left him multiple messages, tried his hardest to get through to him, but never seems to get a reply. In fact, the most he had heard was from Yuyeom, stating that Jeongguk was in the dormitory with a fever, and not to come over in case he catches it too. Still, Taehyung thinks he’ll visit soon. He misses him.

“Tae! Will you get me some sardines please!” Kogyeol is calling from the kitchen, but Taehyung is all tangled up in Jimin’s arms, asleep once again because the Clave still can’t seem to find the space to get him a room. Then again, the Institute had been all kinds of full with visitors.

“You sure it doesn’t say Saccharin Yeol?” Jimin calls back, “I’m pretty sure you don’t put fish in doughnuts.”

“Oh— thanks!”

Jimin smiles, he smiles not only with his lips but his eyes smile as well and everyone seems to love it, but he doesn't get it.

“Hey, Jimin—“

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear? Those vampires are claiming to have recruited another mundane.” Kogyeol walks in then, mixing something that looks like the distinct opposite of donut batter.

“They have? Have they sent anyone out to investigate it?”

Kogyeol shrugs, “It’s just a claim, they haven’t identified the person that was turned yet. Not until they die.”

“Do they at least know where the attack was?”

“Yeah, it’s at the local university, just down the road from here.” Kogyeol nods then, sitting beside Jimin and Taehyung with a grin. “He must like you.”

“He’s just tired; they still haven’t got a room for him.”

“He could stay in my room with me?” He raises a brow, before stirring about the sludge once more.

“It’s fine, I’m letting him bunk with me right now.”                     


	9. The dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all of Jeongguk's are short.

Jeongguk's mahogany hues were worn by the absence of energy he had within him, his bones creaked with a familiar ache, a dull throbbing that warned him of the firm grasp of death, and his breathing had reduced to shallow inhales and exhales that frequently lynched a cough from his chest.

 

Jeongguk knew the signs of death. The way the shadows began to swallow your countenance and create hollow nests within it. The way that happiness would begin feel so distant - unreachable and unattainable. When sunrise was no longer something to look forward to, but a burden upon your aching limbs, a forceful push into a world teeming _life_. When your friends were no longer friends but another obstacle, another drain to your energy. When no amount of coffee could keep your eyes open, no amount of advice could keep your mind above water, no amount of medication could keep your lungs from collapsing. It was when your skin started to grey, eyes started to droop, voice started to become gritty, and smiles started to become forced.

It was when every little _simplistic_ task felt insurmountable.

"I'm ok." Jeongguk whispered, though his eyes had been watching the clock the whole time. Counting the seconds before his whole body would shut off completely. The thinning male was delicate in the way he collected up Taehyung’s necklace within his own hand, letting it slip between his fingers and fill the spaces. He watches the locket carefully, tracing patterns with his eyes, a distraction, a coping mechanism. "I'll be ok if you leave me behind..."

It’s then, that his eyes flutter to a close, and his chest no longer rises with shaken inhales, and his bunny-toothed smile seems it will never return. It is then, that Jeongguk’s heart stills, and his skin runs from a golden tan to a ghostly white.

It’s then, that Jeongguk is thought to never wake again.


	10. The discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer to make up for the shorter chapters.

Vampires. They don’t come in packs like a werewolf, and they aren’t solo like a Shadowhunter, but they thrive in numbers, and they leech off of the blood of _whatever_ they can get their hands on. They’re not like the vampires in Twilight, they’re not pretty sparkly little things that break the bed when things get rowdy, they don’t mope around and act like the whole world is against them, but they come in the form of humans. Night Children, vampires, are a species of Downworlders. Along with werewolves, vampires are humans infected with a demon disease. However, unlike the former, vampires are considered ‘undead’. Their blood shimmers bright, and the creatures cannot cry, but it is blood that leaks from their eyes. They do not have a heartbeat, and they do not use oxygen as a human does, but may utilize their heightened sense of smell. Their lack of breath makes them impervious to such things as asphyxiation, drowning, or gases.

They are immortal. Undying. Inescapable.

It’s something Xiao learns when he is turned by his sire by the name of Bitto. He is relentless

In an attempt to dominate the Shadowhunters and downworlders alike he continues to turn mundanes, humans and those innocent, he creates vampires with a single bite, enough of his own blood, and then he leaves them to fend for themselves. Alone.

Xiao once looked up to him. Once thought what he was doing would erase Shadowhunter’s self-entitlement. But then he realises the Shadowhunters are protecting downworlders like him, and he thinks against his ideals.

The royal blue painted itself upon the vast skies that had once seeped tender tangerine shades and warm amber tones in wisps that curled around the snowy white of the clouds and disappeared beneath the glitter of the midnight stars. It was getting late, Xiao noted, and that was when many creatures found their way into the fleeting darkness of the night, the security and safety promised beneath the blanket of stars and flickering streetlights.

He walked forward. He carried himself along the streets, twirling a pen between the slender fingers of his left hand and notepad in the grasp of his right, eyes trailing along the scenery mindlessly in hopes to catch sight of _something_ that would spark his interests.

And whilst nothing caught his eye, his ears were pricked to alert; a bitter cry resounded from the alley just a corner away from the petite male of candyfloss tresses, and it had no intentions of silencing.

So he moved swiftly upon his boot-clad feet, pacing around the tight corner and slipping his fingers along the murky walls to see a window, wide open at the fifteenth floor of a university. The light was on and somebody was screaming. Xiao sucked in a deep breath riddled with nerves and dropped his notepad and pencil upon the floor. He figured he didn't need them. Not now.

He makes his way into the building with unfathomable speed and races up to the room in which the screams were resonating. And he sees it. Another victim, dead, in the arms of a friend, or family— someone that cares.

“Let go of him—“ The vampire speaks desperately, quickly shifting over to the male and prying him away from the body enclosed within muscular arms.

“Why— who are you— what are you doing to him!?”

“Trust me, and let him go if you ever want to see him _alive_ again!”

The stranger complies now, and releases the body from within his arms, and Xiao collects him up immediately. Then he disappears.

 

> 

 

Alarms.

The Institute is consumed by the shrill scream of them, and engulfed in a sheer red that appears in pulses. It’s when Taehyung is curled up in the comfort of Jimin’s lap that everything happens, all at once and yet in slow motion. His eyes flutter open to the blinding sight, and all he can hear is shouting around the halls, _screaming,_ because a vampire had infiltrated the institute, and its intentions are unclear. Jimin carefully shakes Taehyung awake, and then he’s sliding out from beneath him, racing to grab his bow and quiver, and then rushing to the entrance.

And it’s then, that his expression falls.

On the floor, sprawled messily in a pile of paled limbs, was Taehyung’s mundane friend.  _Dead_.

“ _What did you do!?”_ Jimin shouts, pacing toward the petit vampire and grasping at the collar of his shirt, taking a fistful of the fabric and yanking him toward him.

“It wasn’t me— I swear it wasn’t me, I-I just found him and he’s bitten— I didn’t know what to do with him so I took him here—“ He’s babbling, and it honestly pisses Jimin off further.

“Then explain how you found him, huh?”

“I heard him screaming, and I rushed there— It wasn’t me, I just wanted to h-help him!”

Jimin loosens his grip then, but his expression doesn’t soften. Not in the slightest.

“I swear— I-I’ll even go before the Soul Sword, please you just have to listen to me!”

“I’m going to trust you for now, but one wrong move and _I swear—_ “

“I won’t let you down, o-ok?”

Jimin backs away then, and is gaze falls to the hall; the hall where Taehyung was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sluggishly shuffling his way toward the scene, where a male of candyfloss locks stands, and another lays on the floor. Nothing registers.

“Jimin… what’s going on?” He questions quietly, moving closer and closer until—

“Taehyung stay back, ok? Trust me you don’t want to see this…” Jimin speaks with urgency, swiftly moving toward the young Shadowhunter and swallowing him up in his embrace. “Come with me, ok? Just don’t look—“

“Why can’t I look…?” Taehyung whispers, struggling weakly against Jimin’s grip, but it’s no use. “Jimin why can’t I look—what’s happening?”

“Taehyung please, please don’t—“

 “Jimin, _what’s happening?_ ” Taehyung manages his way out of Jimin’s grasp, and his gaze tumbles to a sight that renders him frozen.

Jeongguk.

He had been gone all too long. He'd been gone for almost two hours now, but the exhaustion had long since seeped into the male's bones, and now the young male was deep in the trance of no return. No concept of time, no awareness of his surroundings, _nothing._

Taeyhung jolts into a frenzied panic, chest convulsing viciously and doe eyes alarmed, it's almost as if he _knows_ Jeongguk is gone, as if he knows already what’s happened.

There's this _pain_ in his chest. A pain so precise, so accurate in its puncture, a pain that rings deep and throbs against his muscles, but he can't pinpoint it. He can't decipher where the _hell_ it's coming from, but it hurts. It hurts enough to wrangle a groan from Taehyung’s throat, and a gasp soon after. It's like he can't breathe. Like there's some sort of fire burning in his lungs, a fire wreaking havoc through his body and leaving no room for mercy—

Then it's all cold again. A chill ghosting over his skin and freezing his palms still.

His first thought is to hold him. His first thought is to scoop him up and hold him tight.

But his second thought? His second thought is dissolved to fear, because the air around him is frozen still, it carries a scent far too familiar, it shakes him to his core because Jeongguk, his only idea of home, of happiness, of love— he was on the floor, numb and unmoving.

"Guk— Jeongguk!? Can you hear me!?" He's screaming out, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes and scalding his distraught visage. He collapses somewhere down the line, falls into a heap of limbs. But then he's peeling himself off the ground, crawling toward with what energy he has left—

"G-Guk. . .? Jeongguk. . .?" He whimpers, dragging himself toward the brunette, eyes wrought with fear. “This can’t be happening…”

Taehyung leans down, hands shaking as they stroke along Jeongguk’s cheeks and carefully cup them.

"J-Jeongguk… Are you? Are you—"

The tears helplessly drop onto Taehyung's verglas skin. It's similar to his own, only, it's not _supposed_ to be this way. He's _not supposed to be cold._

"A-Ani— Aniya, you're not—" dead.

Then he's choking on his own tears, gasping in air, eyes panicked and body shaking. He's hiccuping on every breath he takes, scooping Taehyung into his arms and cradling him carefully, rocking back and forth.

"No, no... Jeongguk-ah, you have to wake up for me. . . Please, you have to wake up—"

Leaning down slowly Jimin leaves a kiss against Taehyung's pallid skin, dots it against his temple. He pauses to whisper, to tell him it's going to be alright. To promise he'll never leave. To promise him he’ll fix this.

Then Jimin promises something to himself: whoever did this was going to fucking die.

Taehyung exhausts himself soon enough. He becomes too weak to move, too tired to keep his eyes open, and his skull is _pounding._ Jimin tucks Taehyung up in his bed, brushes his hands through Taehyung’s caramel locks and frowns all the same.

He wishes he could have saved Jeongguk. For Taehyung.

“So what now?” Jimin demands sternly, standing before this ‘Xiao’ with his arms folded over his chest. “Do we bury him, and let him come back, or stake him whilst he’s still human?”

Xiao stares with wide eyes then, shaking his head. “I-I don’t know, it’s not up to me— but if you want him back then— then we have to bring him back as soon as we can.”

“How much time do we have?”

“I don’t know—until midnight.” A guess, but it’s better than nothing.

“So if I’m really going to trust you here— which is _hard_ , then we need to bury him in the next six hours?”

“If you want him to live--”

“Well I’m pretty sure the guy wasn’t up for _dying._ ”

Xiao nods then, ruffling a hand back through his baby pink tufts before glancing about the Institute. He’d never actually been inside, he notes, and this was one _hell_ of a first time.

Jimin finally takes in the way the kid looks. A vibrant haired youth, with cowlicks in his hair as if he hadn’t brushed it since he fell out of bed. His blue baseball jacket is hanging off his shoulder, and a watch face shimmers beneath his sleeves, and it seems perhaps too small by the way it digs into his wrist. It’s old-fashioned, as if it wasn’t even bought by someone remotely close to him, anyone that knows his taste. Jimin is sure he’d never met someone so short on time in years (which is ironic since the guy is literally immortal). Xiao looks like the innocent type, though. The kind that laughs at your worst jokes and winds his arms about your waist when he’s feeling clingy. He seems nice, Jimin thinks, but then, a vampiric charm always seemed to cloud sound logic.

“So do we bury him, I mean, I could go get some blood from a bank for when he wakes up—“ Jimin winces notably at this. Despite his overwhelming association with gore and blood, he despised the stuff, and feared it too intensely to ever _think_ of drinking it. “And he’ll need a mentor, and I’m not the best but I’ll for sure help out!”

“Slow down, ok? We don’t even know if he’ll survive the transformation yet, and having a dead body in the Institute, around _children,_ really isn’t ideal. For now, let’s focus on burying him, and bringing him back to life.”

“ _Technically, we’re undead_.” Xiao corrects, and Kogyeol finally stumbles in on the scene.

“Xiao?” He questions with a wide, toothy grin, “You’re the one that set off the alarms?”

“You know this guy?” Jimin speaks incredulously, only to witness the two hug each other like long lost friends.

“Of course I do! He’s friends with Joon.”

“Oh, the werewolf? What’s a vampire doing hanging around with a werewolf?”

“Namjoon helped me when I was a fledgling; he brought me blood and gave me a place to stay until I was stable enough to find my own way.” Xiao speaks passionately now, as if Namjoon was god’s good gift. Too bad he was a complete outlaw.

“Anyway, Kogyeol, you mind helping us out?” Jimin questions, then throwing his gaze over his shoulder to Jeongguk, who was now slumped against the wall, “Turns out Taehyung’s friend was the next to be bitten. Your friend Xiao brought him in and we need to start his transformation before we lose him for good.”

“Really? Shouldn’t I stay with Tae? I-I mean I’ll help, but—“

“Tae’s sleeping right now, I’ll wake him up once we’re ready to start the burial. I explained it all to him earlier.”

“Right, ok, I’ll help.” Kogyeol accepts, of course, and then the three are shifting the body out to the courtyard.

It doesn’t take too long to dig a hole, not when there are three people joining in, and two have enhanced strength and the other is unbelievably fast. At some point Jimin is rushing back in to wake Taehyung up, cupping his hands at Taehyung’s jaw carefully, and whispering in his ear. Then Taehyung shuffles in the sheets, manages to sit up. His eyes are puffy and red, and his visage is tear streaked, his lips are pink too, and his cheeks flush. He looks like a mess, but Jimin somehow finds it endearing as he’s giving Taehyung a comforting hug.

“Everything is ready, Tae.” He mutters, pulling back slightly to look upon Taehyung. Their eyes meet briefly, but Jimin knows this isn’t the time to be drooling over how damn beautiful he is.

“Where is he? Is he outside?”

“Yeah, he is.” Jimin carefully strokes the back of Taehyung’s hair, smiling rather regretfully, “We’ll fix this, alright?”

Taehyung sniffles, but he lets Jimin help him up and out of the bed.

“Thank you, Jimin… For helping me with everything—“

“Don’t thank me, seriously.”  I just happen to have this huge crush on you.

'It hurts.' It's all too real, memories of Jeongguk searing his mind as they scintillated along the basal of his skull, eyebrows creasing as his pearls grazed upon his lower brim, harshly digging in as he felt the once soothing warmth of Jimin’s breathing ghost upon the nape of his neck. As the Shadowhunter draws away from him with an expression free from pain, it reminds him sorely of the reality. It brings him back to square one emotionally, makes his knees tremble, and in that moment, some part of him wanted to cry until he was numb again.

"Jimin, I just— I really didn’t think any of this would happen and," Taehyung mutters wistfully, massaging his thumb over his own hand for some sort of relief, a familiar burn that resided beneath his dermis and whispered promises of release. "I didn’t think staying with you would put Jeongguk in danger— a-and maybe I shouldn’t be a Shadowhunter, maybe I’m not cut out for it." Taehyung forces a weakened simper upon his coral-stained tiers, he hoped Jimin wouldn't see through it.

“That’s not true, Tae. You _are_ a Shadowhunter and you’re talented and everyone here likes you—"

“But I’m scared, Jimin. I’m scared that I’ll put people in trouble, or that I’ll develop feelings for you or— I don’t know but I just don’t feel ready for all of this.” Honestly, Taehyung had learnt from experience. His only other relationship was one of torture, and abuse. Violence and relentlessness. Every chance he had given before just resulted in the same way— him getting hurt again— but this time, he didn't want that. He didn't want to put Jeongguk through hell again, he didn't want to wither at the hand of another.

But no— maybe JImin was different.  This was going to be different. Once they fixed everything, once everything was back to normal, Taehyung was intent on keeping it that way. He wasn't sure he could face much more tragedy.

“Then let me guide you through this. Let me help you, and let me help Jeongguk too—“

“I think I just need time to think things through.”

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably have /a lot/ of chapters, so sorry about that ;;  
> This first post will be bland i'm sorry, just trying to introduce the characters.


End file.
